Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 234779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1174(@200wpm)___ 939(@250wpm)___ 783(@300wpm)
“Oh my God,” I mutter out loud, but I can’t help smiling as I text back. “Do not buy me a house.”
“I thought you’d like the built-in bookcases in the living room,” he sends back right away.
Built-in bookcases? My finger hovers over the link again. I’m tempted to investigate, but I deny the urge and text him back, “Do not buy me a house.”
“There’s a spare bedroom in case your mom wants to visit,” he adds for further enticement.
I sigh, tearing into a new package of napkins. Once it’s open, I text back, “Do not buy me a house.”
“But it has such a nice view.”
Dammit, he’s making me want to click the link again.
I eye the phone as I flatten the first napkin at an angle and grab a set of silverware, still warm from the dishwasher.
“You cannot buy me a house.”
“Technically, I’d be buying US a house,” he points out.
I set aside a wrapped silverware roll. “You cannot buy US a house.”
“Why?” pops up on the screen as I grab another napkin.
“Because we’re 18, for one thing. It’s not 1950; 18-year-olds do not buy homes.”
“They do if they can afford to. My dad has turned me against renting. Real estate is a good investment. We can rent the place out or sell it if we ever want to move.”
Ignoring his fiscal logic, I type back, “More importantly, there is no us. We are not a couple. I am not moving in with you.”
“Then how will I help you with the late night feedings?” he sends back.
“You’re really helping me not overthink about possibly being pregnant, thank you.”
“Oops, sorry,” he texts back. “Let’s get back to house hunting. Look at that place and tell me if it’s big enough. I figured for a starter, it would work. After college, we might want to move.”
“We are not moving in together,” I tell him. “And you don’t have to buy me things.”
“I like to buy you things,” he texts back.
I shake my head at the phone, setting aside another set of wrapped silverware and then starting on the next.
When I haven’t responded promptly enough, Hunter texts back, “Do you work tomorrow?”
“Sure do. Two to close.”
“That’s lame.”
“Agreed.” On impulse, I grab my phone and take a picture of the small silverware pyramid I’ve started to build. I attach it to the message and type, “I’m trying to work right now, but some handsome distracter keeps texting me.”
“He sounds hot. You should go to his place after you leave.”
I chuckle. “He does still have a couple of hours left on his day pass…”
“Don’t tease me like that.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” I tease.
“Come over and find out.”
I consider it as I wrap another roll of silverware. Mom is at work, so she wouldn’t know if I didn’t go straight home…
I know I shouldn’t sleep with Hunter again, but I’m liking this day pass excuse. It gives me a brief window of time to be carefree with him, but there’s an expiration date so he understands nothing has changed and I don’t have to worry so much about sending him mixed signals.
Mom’s words from the kitchen float back to the surface of my mind.
I don’t have commitment issues, right?
No, of course not. That thought only crossed her mind because she doesn’t know I have a valid reason for being reluctant to commit to him. She doesn’t know about Hunter and Valerie, or me going to his house that day and asking him to leave her alone.
Yuck, I don’t want to think about that.
But now I am.
I pull a face, grabbing my phone off the table and shoving it back in my apron so I won’t be tempted to look at it anymore.
I’m still tempted when I feel the vibration and I know he’s sent another message, but I exercise better self-control this time and ignore it while I finish up with the silverware.
Despite myself, the errant thought crosses my mind, I wonder if he ever texted her like this. Trying to coax her to come over and fuck him while his mom wasn’t home.
If he did, she definitely went. There’s no chase with Valerie.
Ugh.
I feel icky now, so I continue to avoid checking my phone as I go about the rest of my closing work.
When I get outside and the other waitress locks the door behind me, I remember that I don’t have the car tonight. I sigh, looking down the sidewalk. My feet already hurt from running around all night while we were busy. I don’t want to walk home.
I need to start saving up for a car.
I don’t need a nice one, just something to get me around town.
My phone buzzes again.
“When do you get off?” he asked.
I sigh and text back. “I’m leaving now, but I’m heading home. I didn’t finish my weekend homework yesterday since I had to get ready for the party, and I have to work tomorrow, so I won’t have time.”